


The Five Closed Doors and the One that Opens

by classicallybookish



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, 5+1 trope, Alcohol, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Series, F/M, Fluff, Literally all I want is for Steve to be happy, five things, fluff on fluff on fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26427673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/classicallybookish/pseuds/classicallybookish
Summary: Steve has always had trouble expressing how he feels, even though he’s finding himself feeling very strongly about you.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Female Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	1. The First Door

Grocery shopping was an underrated form of intimacy. Steve Rogers didn’t realize that until he was following you around a store pushing a cart. He had flown in from a mission early and wanted to spend time with you, as bashful as he was to admit it. When you had texted that you were on your way to the grocery store, he jumped at the chance to see you. This was what… your fifth week of dating? Steve flipped through his mental calendar, searching for the exact date. _A little over five weeks. Huh. Feels like it’s been longer._

You spin around, two boxes of noodles in hand. “Spaghetti or fettuccine?”

“Spaghetti. I make a mean meat sauce.”

With an eyebrow raised, you tease, “Do you, Captain America?”

“Cross my heart,” Steve says while raising his right hand.

You toss the spaghetti noodle box into the cart with an “Okay then, mister. What do you need?” Down the aisle you go, finding the ingredients Steve dictates for the sauce.

You were graceful in your own way - in the way you moved past the dozens of colorfully packaged products, the way your fingers reached for the milk carton. Your eyes rove shelves, the way they light up when you find what you were looking for like a delighted child’s. Your tongue peeks between your lips when you concentrate, you brush some hair out of your eyes when it gets particularly floppy. Seeing you being _you_ stirs feelings in him he had difficulty identifying. It was more than happiness, different from being content… almost like his soul was at rest with you. He shakes his head as if that would help toss the thoughts away.

_Way too early for those thoughts, Rogers. Relax. Just enjoy the time with her._

He never knew it before, but having company for a mundane task was nice. Part of him was honored you let him tag along. Steve usually rushed through the task, but you made it much more enjoyable. One moment you were subtly dancing down the aisle to the music playing over the loudspeakers, the next you were making him choose his favorite cereal box “art”. The quiet moments were just as good as the goofy ones.

He liked being with you. And he wanted to keep being with you.

The weight of that single thought struck him as if he missed catching the rebound of his shield. He was loathe to admit how much he liked you, or people in general. It was just his nature, doing his best not to get attached lest someone decided to leave. Something about you whispered that you might be worth the risk.

You stop abruptly, Steve jerking to a halt to avoid running over you with the shopping cart.

“I have an important question I’ve been meaning to ask you,” you say, eyes riveted the shelves in front of you.

Steve gulps, feeling like he’d been caught thinking about you. There had been just a handful of deep conversations between you. Had you been thinking along the same thoughts as him?

He nods, bracing himself for serious discussion.

“Are you a brownie or a cookie man?”

He blinks. That’s definitely not what he expected.

“Uh… no preference.”

“Everyone has a preference, Steve. I won’t judge you too harshly.” You wink at him, which prompts him to consciously relax his shoulders.

“I guess I’d reach for a classic chocolate chip cookie first.”

“Good to know,” you mutter, tossing chocolate chips into the basket.

As much as the exchange caught him off guard, he loves the way you keep him on his toes.

A few items later, the two of you had made it to the checkout line, where you attempt to stealthily grab two candy bars, hoping you’d evaded Steve’s notice.

You hadn’t. But it was sweet that you’d tried.

He smiles beneath his ball cap when he sees you grab his favorite candy - he was surprised you had remembered.

Once you’d paid for the groceries, Steve grabbed all the bags by himself. A voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Sam remarked that he was showing off - _Well, I'm not_ not _showing off._

When he turned from filling up the backseat of your car, you were waiting, hand outstretched with his candy bar. “For keeping me company and being the muscle today.”

His fingers brush against yours as he takes the bar from you, the innocent touch made his breath quicken just the slightest bit. “Anytime, doll.”

The term of endearment slips out before he can catch it, but you don’t seem to mind one bit. You smile wide,triggering his own smile. Something passes between you in that moment, not anything he could name or put a finger on. .

Maybe it was settling into a new comfortableness with each other. He wanted to say so much more, but he kept smiling instead. He didn’t want to scare you off.

Maybe one day he’d say more than one word to express how he felt.


	2. The Second Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve decides to brighten your day and your reaction is priceless.

Steve hadn’t been sure how you felt about flowers until last week. He always thought buying flowers for a girl was romantic, but from what he’d gathered from reading and talking to a few friends, some women saw flowers as a minimal cliched effort to make amends. Steve had decided to wait and feel out your opinion on flowers.

You and Steve had been walking through a farmers market when you’d exclaimed over a bouquet of flowers one vendor had on display. “Oh my goodness, these are my favorite - they’re gorgeous!” You’d smelled the bunch and bought a few, just enough to brighten the apartment, you’d said. It was the end of the next week and Steve had found a monstrous bouquet of those same flowers. He’d had to hunt around, but he had a feeling it was going to be worth it.

Steve knocks on your door a few times, taking a moment to breathe in the flowers’ fresh scent. Once again he found himself glad for Erskine's serum - otherwise his asthma wouldn’t have allowed him to be close to flowers, let alone be around them for an extended period of time. Now he could make your day and enjoy the benefits of the bouquet too.

The second you open the door, you had a huge grin on your face. “Steve, you didn’t…”

“I sure did,” Steve smiles in return.

“You remembered!” You take the bouquet from him, eyes bright with joy.

“I was just excited to find out you like flowers.”

“You are so thoughtful, Steve. Thank you!” You lean up to hug him with your free arm, squeezing him tight.

You were gone in a flash, digging through the cabinet under the sink for what he could only assume was a vase. Seconds later, an old mason jar is on the counter and you’ve cut the ends of the flowers just the right length to nestle inside the container. You sit the flowers by the coffee pot so you “will see them every single morning”. The whole time you were fussing over the flowers, Steve watched from his perch against the kitchen door jamb, smiling like a fool.

_I’m in trouble._

You touch the petals delicately, appearing to be lost in thought.

Steve murmuring your name broke you from your reverie when he asks “You good?”

“Oh, I’m very good. I’m… touched.” If Steve was right, you were doing your best to blink back tears, your eyes were still shiny when you move to stand in front of him. “I don’t want to freak you out, but it’s been a long time since someone has done something this kind and it means a lot to me. You remembered my favorite flower, you went out of your way to get me this stunning bouquet, and you made it a surprise. Thank you, Steve.”

You reach up on your tiptoes to plant a firm kiss on Steve’s lips, catching him - pleasantly - by surprise. His hands come to rest on your hips as your embrace lasts for a few minutes.

“Thank you, for making my day,” you whisper as you lean back, trying to convey all your emotion in one look.

“You’re welcome. I love it. I mean-I love-Not you, that’s not what I said, but-not that I don’t have loving feelings towards you in general because it’s too early for that-ahh, damn it-“ Steve clears his throat, hating himself for ruining the moment. “Making you happy makes me happy. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

“I hear you loud and clear, Rogers,” you giggle. “Don’t worry about it another second. If you stick around, I’ll bake something for us.”

_Oh yeah, I’m in big trouble._


	3. The Third Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Steve decide to get ice cream on a hot summer day.

Steve had fallen into a rhythm with you over the past three months - well, almost three months. It had been ten weeks and three days since your first date.

Yes, Steve was definitely counting. 

Your relationship was lovely, familiar, a comfort for the both of you through the ups and downs.

The pair of you had just had dinner at one of your usual spots and you were walking through the city, enjoying each other’s company. Your right arm looped through his left, Steve had taken the side of the sidewalk closest to the street like the true gentleman he was. The summer heat is stiff, but that doesn't stop you from curling into him. Steve, personally, loved the feeling of you tucked into his side.

“You know what I would kill for right now?” you say, looking up at him.

“What would you kill for right now? I hope it’d be worth it,” he returns with no small amount of amusement in his voice.

“An ice cream cone. A cold, giant ice cream cone. It’s way too hot to not have ice cream.”

“That I can agree with. Let’s see if we can find a shop, we earned some ice cream.”

This got a giggle out of you, mirth twinkling in your eyes. “Eating dinner is worthy of ice cream? How have I gone my whole life without knowing this?”

“Do you want your ice cream or not?”

You hold up your other hand in defense, “No, no, I really want ice cream. Calm down Mr. Sassy Pants.”

He can't stop a bark of laughter at the name - “I don’t think I’ve ever received such a polite insult in my life.”

A few blocks later, you found an ice cream shop and picked out a cone for each of you. The two of you decided to walk and eat since the sun was going down and the temperature had finally dropped.

“It figures that the giant, hulking superhero gets the most boring cone in existence,” you tease Steve, sampling your own ice cream.

“There is nothing boring about a cone of vanilla ice cream - it’s an American classic.”

“But there’s nothing special about it!”

Steve snorts, eyeing your ice cream cone, “Frankly, yours is a little too special.”

“Hey, my triple chocolate with M&Ms is delicious, thank you very much!” You are almost indignant, which Steve finds adorable.

“Let me try.” You hold your ice cream up to Steve and he takes a small bite. “Yeah, that’s way too much sugar.”

“At least it’s interesting!”

“Try mine and tell me it’s not interesting.” He offers you the cone and you try a bit. As you pull away, a dollop of vanilla ice cream tops your nose.

“It’s not the worst, but it’s not mine.” Feeling Steve’s gaze, you look up. “What?”

“You have a little…” he gestures to your face.

Blindly, you swipe at your cheek. “Did I get it?”

“No, on your nose.”

You wipe the wrong nostril. “Now?”

Before he knew what he was doing, he kisses the ice cream off your nose. Leaning back, he whispers, “Got it.” He finds your eyes wide, breathing quickened. Then reality caught up with Steve and his cheeks burn.

“Umm…” he shrinks back. “I’m sorry. That was-”

“It’s-” you start, but Steve couldn’t bear to hear you shoot him down.

“Did I mention I’m gonna be gone next week?”

“Oh… .no, you didn’t.”

“Yeah. It’s a … big… thing.” Steve scratches the back of his neck to avoid fidgeting.

“Got it.” You walk forward in silence, a step apart from each other, eating your ice cream quietly.

_Now it’s just awkward. Why did I have to do that? Why didn’t I stop myself? You’re an idiot and this is why you’ve never been able to keep a girl around for long-_

You grab his free hand. Thankful for the show of affection, he does his best to slow down the negative thoughts and try not to fear that he’d ruined everything.

Little did he know you were more smitten with him than ever.


	4. The Fourth Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve surprises you with dinner and your favorite movie, but the evening doesn’t go exactly as he planned.

Today marks six months since your first date, and things were still going well. The relationship had graduated from needing to go out on dates to cooking for each other and watching movies on the couch. This particular evening you were running around the kitchen, trying to finish dinner before Steve arrived - you were out of luck. Your day at work had been a mess, ending in a frustrating conversation with your boss. The minute you had gotten home, you’d tried to leave the bad day behind, to no avail. One disaster after another hit; the bread was left under the broiler too long, the vegetables were dry, and you had forgotten to marinate the meat you were going to grill.

You dial Steve’s number, too worn out to to be embarrassed about your failed evening. Him muttering your name sends your butterflies flying.

“Hi Steve.”

“You okay? You sound tired.”

“Not really. It’s been a long, hard day.”

“Can I do anything before I come over?”

“Would you pick up some pizza? My dinner is a bust. I have wine here and I’ll pay you back for the pizza.”

“No you won’t. I’ve got it.”

“Steve, it’s my turn,” you breath a sigh, guilt twisting in your gut.

“What kind do you want?”

“Are you going to let me pay you?”

“Pepperoni with extra cheese?” you can hear the smile in his voice, can practically see his boyish expression. “I’ll be there soon. Open up the wine, okay?”

Busting out the wine opener, the cork releases with a satisfying _pop_. You down the first glass a little too quickly, intent on soothing your frazzled mind. Half an hour later, Steve knocks on your door. You turn the doorknob with your wine glass in hand and are met with the image of Steve’s legs and a wall of pizza boxes.

“Uh… Steve, what is this?”

* * *

Steve could not have been more excited about surprising you.

He leans around the boxes with a huge grin on his face, thoroughly enjoying your shocked expression. “You never told me what you wanted so … you ready to try every pie on the menu?”

Your joyful giggle was all the confirmation he needed to know he’d made the right move. He could sense your stress from the moment he had answered your call. Soon the two of you were sitting at the bar adjacent to the kitchen, pizza boxes open on every flat surface in sight.

He pulls you from your seat, dragging you to the couch. “I did pick up one other thing.”

“Steve Rogers, aren’t you just full of surprises today.”

“I do my best.” Out of his back pocket, he pulls your favorite movie.

“How did you-?”

“I have a pretty decent memory.”

You grab a few blankets as Steve gets the movie started. He settles onto the couch, kicking his legs onto the coffee table - you promptly toss your legs over his lap, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

Steve chuckles through a few one-liners while you stay pretty quiet. Your favorite moment of the film passes without a reaction from you, which prompts him to glance down.

Your eyes are closed, your breathing even. Dead asleep.

Steve checks his watch. 8:30pm.

His first reaction was guilt that he had intruded on you when you were clearly exhausted. His second thought was embarrassment that he’d put you to sleep. The last feeling he lands on is humility that you felt comfortable - even safe enough with him to fall asleep in his presence. He takes the leisure time to to memorize your features.

You were beautiful. Plain and simple.

He lets the movie finish - though he spends more time watching you than the movie, but he would never admit to that.

The minutes tick by and Steve finds himself in a predicament. What was he supposed to do with you sleeping peacefully against his shoulder? Wake you up? Leave you on the couch? Move you? Leave the apartment? There wasn’t a written protocol for this - _but there really should be. Dating would be easier with a Standard Operating Procedure._

Then he tries to think of what you would do for him - you would make him as comfortable as possible and leave him be.

He gently picks you up - still adorably wrapped in the blanket - and cradles you close. He takes the small liberty of smelling your hair - lavender and vanilla - on his way to your bedroom before nestling you between the sheets. You grumble in your sleep, seeming displeased at leaving Steve’s arms. Then you promptly roll over. No romantic nuzzling into Steve, no asking him to stay sleepily. Just endearing you softly snoring.

Steve closes your bedroom door and begins cleaning up the numerous pizza boxes. He wraps up the pies you'd expressed obvious favoritism for and puts them in the fridge so you would have leftovers. He grabs the rest of the boxes and was headed out the door when he thought of another thing you would do. He scribbles a note on a scratch piece of paper and reads it over one more time, proud of himself. Setting it by the coffee pot, he makes sure your door was locked on his way out.


	5. The Fifth Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets overwhelmed by your kindness and an amorous confession.

Steve felt like a zombie. The day had been draining, to say the least. After an alert went off on an especially diabolical criminal in the dead of morning, the Avengers had hopped on a quinjet and taken him into custody. He hadn’t gone down without a fight, in which good allies were lost. Between unexpectedly flying around the globe in the span of 24 hours, dealing with the grief of fallen comrades, and the physical toll of battle, Steve was dead on his feet.

That’s why he needed to be by himself, to rest away from prying eyes. He had a small apartment in the city for just that reason, and he was grateful for it as he climbs up to the stoop. Rain pours down on the New York streets, a droplet rolls off his forehead and onto his hands as he unlocks his door. All he wants is to shower and be in bed after this day.

* * *

He wakes face-first into his pillow, his body almost completely sideways on his bed. He was fairly certain he hadn’t moved all night, based on the soreness in his neck. Before he could sit up, his enhanced ears pick up the sizzling of bacon along with light footsteps shuffling around the kitchen. The tread sounds like you, which brings a smile to his face. Attempting to pat down his unruly bedhead, Steve shuffles off the bed. From the moment he opened his bedroom door, a sense of nostalgia washed over him. He couldn’t put his finger on why exactly, but something felt familiar about this moment in time.

He rounds the corner, finding you clad in his oversize apron, bent over something on the stove. You hum your favorite song of the month, busy at work. The aroma of biscuits brings his sense of nostalgia into sharp relief, as a part of his soul mourns for a life long-passed.

“You gonna hover in the door all morning or come give me a hug?” you snark, looking up from the pan in front of you to smirk at him.

“Why move when I have such a beautiful view from here?” you snort at his comment and attempt to wipe at some flour on your chin. “Were you here when I came in this morning? Was I that out of it?”

“No, I just got here. I heard you had a rough time and wanted to make you breakfast. I let myself in. I hope that’s okay,” there was a hint of panic in your eyes, worry that you’d overstepped.

Steve moves to stand behind you, arms wrapping around your middle, a kiss dusting your cheek. “It’s absolutely okay. I don’t deserve you.” He rests his head on your shoulder when a weathered slip of paper on the counter next to the plate of crisp bacon catches his eye. His heart leaps into his throat, his grip on you tightens. “Is that … Ma’s biscuit recipe?”

“It is. I found it in your old cookbook. Thought you’d want some comfort food?” Steve picks up on the tension in your voice, the anxiety in the statement offered as a question.

Steve was speechless.

He was taken to a dewy morning when his mother had scrounged for the right ingredients to make biscuits, accompanied by hard-to-come-by jelly. It was his last birthday before she had passed; she had put everything she had into celebrating him in the small ways that day. A special breakfast, a new sketchbook, a small dessert after dinner that Bucky wouldn’t stop raving over. It had been a good day, when he wasn’t coughing up a lung or having trouble breathing. He could still see her tired face lit up with a smile while singing him ‘happy birthday’.

“Steve?” your gentle voice jerks him into the present, where his breathing was shallow. You had turned in his arms, obvious concern written in your brow. Steve swallows around the lump in his throat and puts on his best smile.

“You want some coffee?” he moves away from you and toward the coffee pot, hoping the routine movements would settle the shaking in his hands. He hears you sigh before you agree to a cup of coffee. Watching the dark liquid drain in the the pot, the smell of fresh coffee only intensifies his memories. Steve forces a deep breath through his lungs before he aggressively wipes at a solitary tear.

_This is embarrassing. Pull yourself together._

He sits your cup next to the stove, leaning against the opposite counter to watch you form the batch of biscuits and place the pan in the oven. Several minutes of silence pass, Steve lost in thought.

“Steve… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He looks up from the floor to you, hating that the wringing of your hands and tense shoulders were because of him

“You don’t have to apologize, darling. I’m just blown away by your thoughtfulness, that’s all. Don’t mind me.” You don’t look convinced as you sip from your mug. “Hey,” he steps toe-to-toe with you, pressing a finger under your chin, “I mean it. Thank you. I needed to see you after how rough yesterday was.” You smile softly at that, taking his hand in your free one.

“I care about you a lot, Steve. I… I love you.” Steve’s blood runs cold. “I don’t want you to say anything back - because I know you’re exhausted and emotional. But I just need you to know that, okay?” Steve searches your eyes for signs of deceit, for doubt, for anything that would tell him that you didn’t mean it - he came up empty. You simply look back, nothing but adoration evident in your countenance.

The moment was interrupted by the oven timer. Steve blinks a few times. You kiss his hand and release it, turning to remove the fluffy biscuits from the oven.

Once again, Steve was dumbstruck, at a loss what to do.

“Steve, would you mind grabbing us some plates and the jelly that I put in the fridge?” He nods, gathering what you’d asked for, still watching you from the corner of his eye. You were more at ease than you’d been the whole encounter, seeming content with saying what you needed to say and moving on.

Steve had a lot he wanted to say. But he couldn’t find the right words you were worthy of.


	6. The Door that Opens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finally sees an open door and literally runs toward it.

A week later and Steve was still beating himself up over how he handled himself that morning in the kitchen.

He knew that he loved you. He believed that you loved him. But he couldn’t bring himself to be open and vulnerable that day.

Not for lack of wanting to - he wanted to share his feelings. It was the beginning of the sharing that made him anxious. He’d barely slept the whole week, finding himself staring at the ceiling as the minutes ticked by, trying to put his thoughts into words.

He blindly turns off his alarm clock, having been awake for hours already. It was Thursday morning, which meant Steve would get to see you before work, the same as every Thursday.

He’d make you coffee and meet you outside your apartment to walk you to work. Steve pulled on a pair of jeans and turns the coffee maker on, already excited to see you. Travel mugs in hand, he shoves his keys into his pocket when fingers brush against a piece of paper, causing his eyebrows to knit together. He fishes it out and stares at it for several seconds, his heart pounding out of his chest.

You must have tucked it into his pocket when you were over doing your laundry recently. To anyone else, the gesture would warrant a smile as the note was discarded into the trash. But to Steve, the little slip of paper was the catalyst of so many moments exactly this small that he should’ve acted on. You probably hadn’t given it much thought at the time; it was quick, something to show you were thinking of him. That was just it - you were always thinking of him.

He rushes out his door, furiously pressing the button to call the elevator. When it doesn't come quickly enough he barges into the stairwell, taking the stairs three at a time.

He runs most of the way to you. In hindsight, it was probably a little over-dramatic, people staring as Captain America vaulted pets in his path and weaved through throngs of grumpy non-morning people. But he didn’t care, because it was how he felt.

He sees your apartment building and and soon spies the back of your head, standing in your usual spot. Movement in front of you causes you to look up, your smile dying on your face when you see how serious Steve looks. If he was slightly less stressed, he would try not to look so intense. No such luck.

“Is everything okay, Steve?” You standing in front of him, wide-eyed and confused, felt like cold water had been dumped over his head. Now that he was here he had no idea how to put his feelings into words.

_Don’t overthink. Just say something._

“Uh…” he looks down at his empty hands, “I guess I left the coffee at home, I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, “Forget the coffee, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I promise. I just… I found this note in my pocket this morning,” he tugs the note from his back pocket, holding it out for you. You grab and read it then meet his eyes, looking more perplexed than ever.

“Did it… upset you? I’m sorry, I only meant to-”

“No, no, no,” Steve waves his hands wildly. He runs a hand through his hair, mumbling “Get it together, Rogers, you’re ruining it.”

“Steve. What’s going on?”

“I love you.” Your eyes blow wide, mouth slightly agape. “Seeing the note made me realize you want to make me smile when we aren’t together. You want me to know how you see me, how I should see myself. Few have cared about me without the shield and there’s so many things I should have said a long time ago – but I’m saying them now. I love you.” He grabs one of your hands and slides his other hand through your hair to cup the back of your head. “I love the way you care. I love the way you look out for people. I love your joy you bring to life in the small ways and how you have an earlier bedtime than I do. I love when you hum to pass the time and how you are quick to be compassionate. I love all of you and I can’t wait to love the parts of you I don’t know yet. I just needed to let you know because I hold a lot in, and you deserve - wait - I’m overdoing it, why did I do this-”

You grab his collar and yank him down into a passionate kiss. You separate just long enough to whisper, “I love you too, Steve.”

He grins and pulls you closer, basking in the glow of knowing he was loved and loved in return.

Doors were opening and he wanted to run through them headfirst.


End file.
